


Curse the Stars

by SugarSpiceandCurseWords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Kes's Alliance Service was more Rogue One than Return of the Jedi, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:10:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10442922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarSpiceandCurseWords/pseuds/SugarSpiceandCurseWords
Summary: Kes Dameron understands better than anyone why his son fights.  He doesn't have to like it.Set just prior to and duringThe Force Awakens,focusing on Poe's mission to Jakku.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While I don't think it makes any tactical sense for Poe to have left Black One with his father during the Jakku mission, that's what the (no-kidding published) Poe Dameron Flight Log says, and it apparently counts as canon, so that gives me license to write ALL THE ANGST. Hat tip to bomberqueen17 for her much more detailed backstory for the Dameron family; this is nowhere near that level of quality, but it's also not _quite_ as depressing, so there's that.

There was no such thing as victory in this galaxy. A lifetime of experience and instinct meant little in the grand scheme of things. Nature was chaos, and a long chain of correct choices guaranteed nothing when it came to making the next one.

Kes Dameron squinted out at his eastern field and allowed himself a few more moments of self-pity. Then he exhaled sharply and called up the settings protocol on the new harvester. He’d programmed it accurately for the dimensions of the crop area, but its calibrated speed must not have been tolerant of the slight rise to the north or the richness of the soil, because the blasted thing had turned too early and ended up offset, mangling two entire rows of koyo plants before he’d spotted it and thrown the override switch. Some of the melons would be salvageable if picked by hand, but there would be no second harvest from those plants this season.

A couple hundred credits, at least, down the drain, all because he’d just had to try the latest tech. It was a damned good thing his costs didn’t run that close to margins.

“What’s the damage, _jefe?"_ came the inquiry through his comlink.

“Two rows,” Kes reported, glowering at the now-silent machine. “Can you come out here and run a diagnostic, figure out just what tripped it up?”

“Will do.” Dar Herrosa never said no to Kes, no matter how odd the task. The ranch hadn’t originally been planned to be large enough to necessitate additional hands. The Yavin soil and the koyo had soon developed greater ambitions, though. For a while, they’d gotten by as a father-and-son operation, with Poe putting in long hours before and after school, but Kes had accepted early on that his and Shara’s boy wasn’t meant to be a farmer. Not meant to be tethered to the ground at all, really. After a couple of seasons of the Herrosa kid repeatedly saving his ass, Kes had eventually bowed to common sense and hired Dar on full-time. Ever since, each season’s output had surpassed the last.

He often wondered whether Shara would recognize their home these days. She’d weathered all of the hardships of getting the plantation set up, and hadn’t gotten to enjoy its spoils.

No such thing as victory, indeed.

“Trade places with you?” Dar suggested. “Request just came in over the local channel for use of our landing pad. The name didn’t mean anything to me, but they had your code, so I told ‘em to hold on for your say-so.”

Kes frowned. Visitors weren’t common; the ranch’s landing “pad” was simply a clearing of unplanted ground near the old barn. His regular buyers knew well enough that there wouldn’t be goods to pick up for a few days yet.

“All right, I’ll come back up to the house. You still get the fun of fixing our expensive, mechanized moron.”

Since the ranch’s rare guests were almost always business-related, it was natural that the business had taken over a handful of rooms in the house. Kes’s office held the primary comm terminal, and sure enough, a text alert blinked in the corner, requesting permission to land.

He enabled the voice channel and spoke into the microphone. “Shuttle Corona, this is a private landing zone. I don’t have fuel or power for purchase, and if you need a ride into town, you’re on your own.”

“Understood, DKR,” came the near-instant response—and Kes nearly dropped the mike when he recognized the voice. “Hope you’ll forgive the short notice. We got this clearance code from some punk kid who claims he used to work for you.”

“He was a lousy farmer,” Kes replied, grinning. “Come on down and hear all about it.”

“Is there space in your barn for overnight ship berthing?”

He checked the datastream from the shuttle’s transponder: it would fit next to Shara’s A-wing, barely. “If you’re careful about it, be my guest.”

“Much appreciated. Landing in six minutes. Corona out.”

Kes closed the channel and hustled outside to the old barn/hangar, forcibly clearing his mind of questions. He understood all too well why there had been no warning for this visit; what he didn’t know was the reason for the visit in the first place. What had it been, a year? Best to just be grateful for it.

He dragged the big, recalcitrant barn door open and scanned the cloudless sky for the shuttle. When his eye found motion, it was noticeably more swift than a standard shuttle. Typical. As it neared, though, Kes cursed in exasperation. The ‘shuttle’ was in fact a pair of X-wings, flying in such close formation that they appeared to be a single craft. One had a common paint job, while the other was a striking black with familiar orange accents. They screamed in toward the ranch and decelerated with graceful precision in order to ease gently into the barn, one trailing the other.

They’d perfectly minimized their exposure to any curious onlookers. Kes had already known this wasn’t a social call, but now it was confirmed.

Before entering the barn, he waited for the whine of the engines to die down. He bypassed the grey craft entirely; he knew damn well which one belonged to his son.

“You’re lucky I don’t keep livestock,” he called as soon as the canopy popped open with a hiss of escaping air. “You’d have killed them all with the shock from that fool stunt.”

“We tried livestock once, remember?” He could hear the grin in Poe’s voice, carrying over the shuffling of harnesses and shutdown checks. “They kept escaping through the fence.”

“And whose job was it to keep the fence patched up?”

A flight helmet came into view over the sill of the cockpit, quickly removed to reveal a mess of curly dark hair. Apparently the Resistance hadn’t adopted the Navy’s grooming standards. Poe vaulted over the side of his fighter and crushed his father in a hug that almost knocked them both to the ground.

“Good to see you, kiddo,” Kes said into Poe’s ear, an arm slung around his neck. “Been a long time.”

“You too, Dad. I’m sorry it…you know.”

Kes did know. They’d been over it before. More than once, and not always calmly. He’d never tried to insulate his son from the complications and hazards of the galaxy, as much as he’d wanted to. Flying a starfighter for the New Republic Defense Fleet had been one thing, though; flying a starfighter for an extra-governmental fringe group with no official support and scant resources was something else.

After all, Kes had just a bit of experience with such matters. If he hadn’t, if this were just about principles, maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard to live with.

“Yeah, I do,” he said simply, releasing Poe so he could study him better. The boy— _not a boy; older than you were, when it was you out there_ —looked tired, and maybe a little tense, but the spark of purpose in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

So much like Shara.

“You brought a friend?” Kes turned toward the other X-wing, where a larger, bearded pilot had chosen to actually deploy his boarding ladder rather than leap down.

“Yeah, I think you may have met before, believe it or not. Snap Wexley, Kes Dameron.”

Another surprise. “Norra’s boy, I’m guessing?”

Wexley shook the proffered hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I think you were a little shorter the last time we met.”

“I was probably ten, so yeah, maybe around the height Poe is now,” the other pilot deadpanned.

“You see the respect I get.” Poe smacked his wingman’s shoulder and turned back to his father, just as his astromech detached from its port and settled onto the ground behind him. “Listen, we’re only on planet for a few hours—at least I am—but if you’re willing, I’d like to stash my ship here for a few days longer. It’s got a great transponder spoof that’ll defeat any casual scans—”

“I noticed.”

“—but if you expect company any time soon, just say the word and I’ll move it elsewhere. I don’t want to put you or the ranch at risk for this.”

They were already at risk, they all knew. To some degree, the ranch and its owner had been at risk since the moment an NRDF defector named Poe Dameron had hijacked a senatorial yacht and earned a First Order-sponsored price on his head. Kes had chased off a couple of amateurish bounty hunters already this year. He hadn't told Poe, of course. Compartmentalization had its uses on both sides.

Kes Dameron didn’t have it in him to fight for freedom, not again. But he would always, _always_ be prepared to fight for his son.

And Poe knew it, or he wouldn’t have come.

“Let me send my crop manager home,” Kes said. “I trust him, but I’m gonna send him home early. If he doesn’t see you or the ships, he’s got plausible deniability. Then I’ll make us some dinner and we can all talk in maddeningly oblique terms about why you’re here.”

*******************

Kes had never made much of an effort in the kitchen. Truth be told, neither had Shara. They’d worked out a few minor variations on the familiar roasts and stews from their respective childhoods, and those had served them perfectly well. Once Shara was gone, Kes hadn’t felt motivated to branch out, and young Poe had dutifully eaten anything put in front of him. The routines were so ingrained that Kes still cooked in the same quantities for just himself and simply ate the same meal for a week’s worth of suppers.

Dreary, Tinera had called it on more than one occasion. ‘Pragmatic’ was Kes’s preferred word. In any case, having cooked nerf stew yesterday meant that there was plenty available for Poe and the Wexley boy.

Snap, obviously, was no more a boy than Poe—older, in fact, but seemingly content to follow the other’s lead. The Resistance had a formal structure now, or so Kes had gathered; Poe had retained his Navy rank. Commander, which was higher than Kes or Shara had ever gotten or really even wanted. And leading the entire starfighter corps…however many pilots that meant these days.

Of course, concealing a ship on a Republic-aligned planet and going off alone were not the typical actions of a corps commander.

It was challenging, cognitively speaking, to be so damned proud of a son and still abhor so much of what surrounded him.

“Karé and Iolo send their best,” Poe said, tearing off a piece of warm bread. “They’re on a long-term patrol assignment, so they’ll be out longer than I will. Iolo says he’ll lead a mutiny if I don’t bring back a whole pallet of koyo for the squadron.”

“Youngsters these days will mutiny over anything,” Kes said, his tone dry. “If it’s not the mess hall offerings, it’s a lack of demonstrable action against emerging fascist regimes in the Outer Rim.”

Snap seemed to choke a little on his ale at that, and BB-8 made a sound that approximated a snort from his charging dock, but Poe merely tipped his head. “The general sends her regards as well,” he continued. “And her gratitude.”

That stung, though he’d been half expecting it. “Be clear about this,” Kes replied, possibly too sharply. “I’m helping _you._ Not the Resistance. If this is her back-door, underhanded way of trying to draw me into—”

“It’s not, Dad. Coming here wasn’t her idea. It was mine.” Poe set down his fork, looking calmly focused. Apparently he’d become practiced at more than flying starfighters. “I know she tried to recruit you not too long after I joined up. She told me a few months ago, once she figured out that _you_ hadn’t.”

Well, hell.

“She respected your decision. So do I. This isn’t about that.” Poe leaned forward in his chair. “I needed a place that was completely unconnected to the mission, and off the related hyperspace lanes. Coming home…I know it’s not safe, but it’s safer than most of the alternatives.” He offered a small, wistful smile. “And I just wanted to.”

“I’m glad,” Kes said, and found that he meant it.

After they’d finished, and the two pilots were dutifully washing and drying the dishes like first-year cadets, he finally decided to just get it over with. “So,” he began, setting his glass down on the counter. “I’m not foolish enough to ask _what_ you’re doing, but I think I rate an estimate of how dangerous it is.”

Poe didn’t look up from the washbasin. “About as dangerous as everything else we do.”

BB-8 issued a decidedly negative rejoinder. Snap turned ever so slightly, shaking his head. “C’mon, Poe,” he said quietly. “Not to your old man.”

Conceding, Poe lifted his gaze. “A little riskier than the usual. But it’s important. I know I’m not leaving you with much beyond my word, but it’s very important.”

“Important enough to go alone.” Which went against nearly all Alliance tactics, even the Pathfinders’. How things had changed.

“Yeah.” The faintest hint of humor twisted the corner of Poe’s mouth. “Somehow I’ve developed a reputation for being able to acquire information. Force only knows how.”

“Information,” Kes repeated. “About the First Order?”

Poe paused for a long moment before replying. “About something we might be able to use against it.”

A tantalizing concept. Seductive, even. “And you trust your intel?”

“I do, because it’s ours. And I don’t mean ‘ours’ as in the Resistance’s. Ours as in _ours._ Snap, Karé, and I have been tracking it for a while. Along with some friends. It’s as solid as anything ever is in this business.”

What more was there to say? He trusted his son’s judgement. He trusted that Norra Wexley’s son was putting his decades of… call it ‘operational experience’ to good use. He trusted that Leia Organa, for all the things she hadn’t managed to do, still knew better than nearly anyone what was needed.

“I don’t need to hear you say you’re proud of me or anything,” he heard Poe say, bringing him abruptly out of his own head. “A lot of this stuff isn’t really something to be proud of. But it would…help, if I knew you at least hoped for us to succeed. This mission or any other.”

Now _that_ was a low blow. “You know I do. Don’t make it out like I don’t believe in the cause.”

“No, I know.” Did he, though? For all his fighter-pilot bravado, Poe still, somehow, sounded like he was ten years old and steeling himself for a parental verdict.

“I absolutely want to see you succeed,” Kes told him, making sure there was no room for misinterpretation. “That has _never_ been a question.”

_I just can’t make myself believe I’ll get you back, even if I get you back._

He chose different words. “This wasn’t supposed to be your fight. That’s all.”

They put away the dishes in silence for a few minutes.

“You should stay the night,” Kes said at last, as much to pierce the tension as anything else. “Not a good idea to start an important mission without enough rest.”

“I slept on the jump.” Which was lousy sleep; Shara used to gripe endlessly about that. Maybe Poe remembered, because he relented almost immediately. “I can catch a nap while you take Snap to the transit hub. Should take off as soon as you get back, but I can stay that long.”

It would have to be enough.

Kes’s speeder covered the distance to the Wetyin spaceport in less than an hour. He managed about twenty minutes of idle chitchat about boloball with Snap before his discretion wore thin. “Take pity on an old man and help me worry less,” he said, casting a glance over at the passenger seat. “Are your fellow pilots good?”

Snap didn’t hesitate. “They’re good. Poe is beyond good. They listen to him, and they’d rather die than let him down.”

A start. “And your leadership—they’re not overreaching? Or seeing what they want to see?”

On that one, the pilot did pause, taking a few moments to watch the jungle fly past as he considered. “They’re making the best calls they can with the best information we can gather.”

“That’s not good enough,” Kes said, not particularly caring how selfish it sounded. “I know it’s all we ever get. But for a parent, it falls painfully short.”

“I’m aware.” There was more resignation than sympathy in Snap’s voice. “Your kid is really, really good at his job, sir, and he’s doing it for the right reasons. That’s the absolute best I can do for you.”

At the transit hub, Kes accepted the younger man’s firm handshake and watched him board a passenger shuttle bound for the Core, en route to Force-knew-where. He made the trip home nine minutes faster than the outbound leg, and after he parked the speeder he instinctively circled the house, approaching Shara’s tree quietly. True to form, Poe was slouched against the massive trunk with one hand resting on his droid, head tipped back and eyes closed. Motionless but not asleep. Kes had heard enough breathing in the darkness once upon a time to know the difference in an instant.

“You still have a perfectly good bed in your old room,” he pointed out.

“Seemed like a waste to remake it after an hour and a half of use.”

“You get lazy without those Navy bunk-making standards to maintain?”

“No, I got practical.” Poe climbed to his feet, and Kes had to wonder if the boy had gotten any sleep at all. “I really do have to go.”

“I wish you didn’t.” It was an unfair thing to say, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. They did this sometimes; they said things that would hurt, because neither of them could consistently put the other’s feelings first. In that, they were too much alike.

“I know.” Poe reached for his jacket, slung over a low branch. “I know you would have been happier if—“ He cut himself off. “Well, no. You would have been less _un_ happy right now if I’d stayed in the Navy. You still wouldn’t have been happy, because even then you were never totally convinced of the righteousness of the Republic. I might have saved myself some trouble if I’d heard you better back then.”

“And what? Stayed on the farm? Wandered off to find the ghosts of the Rebellion with nothing but an ancient A-wing?” Kes snorted and shook his head. “You had to see it through your own lens. That’s all any of us can do.” He stepped closer, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I was never angry at you, _mijo_. With much of the galaxy, yes, but not with you. There’s a difference, and I need you to understand it.” _Before you vanish again and I go back to the days and weeks of not knowing whether I have a living son._

“I do.” Poe sighed. “I just wish things were different. That we didn’t spend most of our lives wishing they were different.”

“So go make them different.” It was as close as he’d ever come to offering acceptance.

Gratitude and starlight glimmered in Poe’s eyes, and he pulled Kes in for a long, fierce embrace. “I’ll see you in two days,” he vowed softly. “This is worth it, Dad. I promise.”

Kes Dameron was not a man of faith, but at that moment he prayed to the Light to be able to once again believe such a promise.

*******************

When you are twenty-five years old and the structures of justice have faltered before your eyes, you fight. It isn't necessarily one thing, one moment, that pushes you into the battle, but when you make the choice you are certain. There are others who are certain, and they have friends, and resources, scant though they are. You are galvanized by the strength of your convictions, and they sustain you through operations that test your physical limits as well as choices that test your emotional and moral ones.

But after months and years of war, always looking over your shoulder, always having three contingency plans, eventually it's no longer really about the future of the galaxy. It's about the people beside you, cut down in twos and threes and sometimes tens, about protecting them as best you can. It's about the pilot in the orange-striped A-wing who is too good to be beaten, and too strong to be beaten down, and too beautiful and smart for any words with which you could try to capture her. It's about the amazing, perfect child you've made together, who knows nothing of the Empire but also knows nothing of freedom or safety.

And when the blasters fall silent at last, you seize that fragile peace with both hands, less because you are confident in its permanence and its virtue than because you have so little left to give of yourself. You make a new life with your luminous wife and bright-eyed son, and you spend years just catching your breath, learning how to sleep easy.

And the Force scorns you for a fool.

She slips away, in spite of every prayer, because even the strongest heart cannot power a failing body. She takes some of her son’s innocence with her, some of the radiance of his smile. And yours as well, whatever had been left of it. And maybe it’s not just you—maybe her absence tugs at the loose threads of the universe, because slowly, inexorably, the fallibility of man cannot be outrun, and the Republic you shed blood to establish begins to fracture.

You cannot hold your beloved to this life.

You cannot force your world into the destiny you desire for it.

You cannot tether your son to the future you desperately wish he would choose, that you desperately wish the galaxy would make possible.

The Force flows on.

The boy becomes a man, and he becomes his mother, and you are resigned. You must let him fly or else truly lose him. He flies, with skill and honor, and all his limitless courage cannot mask the disease that is growing in the very organization he defends, the one you built for him. Soon it is too much for him to ignore. He asks for your guidance and your blessing on his next step, and you know it would be better for you both if you could give it.

Nonetheless you hesitate. A distance grows. It will be bridged, but it will not be closed. You cannot make him understand why or how the path he takes has already broken you once. He has not yet lived it, and you want nothing more than to spare him that.

You cannot. All you can do is wish him well.

Because when you are twenty-five years old and the structures of justice have faltered before your eyes, you fight.

*******************

The ranch had almost exactly the right amount of arable land for two full-time farmhands to comfortably harvest during peak season. Once Dar got the new harvester working properly, they could afford to let up on their usual driving pace.

Kes didn’t, of course.

He needed to work to keep from thinking. Two days came and went with no word from Poe, and by sunset on the second day he was five acres ahead of schedule, waving off Dar’s attempts to call him in for the night.

When he finally exhausted himself enough to sleep, tatters of memory that hadn’t surfaced in decades began to filter into his dreams. Firefights. Covert ops. Long-dead comrades. It would have been tolerable if the faces and voices hadn’t cruelly blurred together with his son’s.

At sunset on day three, when they were eight acres ahead, Dar planted himself in front of the harvester and didn’t move, arms folded across his broad chest.

“ _Jefe_. Be smart. The buyers come next week, whether we get done tomorrow or three days from now. You’re going to work yourself into the grave.”

“Do I look infirm to you?”

Dar shook his head. “You know I’m right.”

Of course he did. “I’ve got reason to be more worried than usual about Poe,” Kes allowed, and watched Dar’s expression soften in comprehension. “Should get word soon, and then—” What? It’d be fine? Hardly. “—well, at least it’ll be over.” Until the next time. At best.

“Okay,” Dar said. “But let’s at least take a breather. My sister could use my help at the shop tomorrow, if you can spare me. What if we just took the day off? You can catch up on the accounts.”

It wasn’t an awful idea. Especially since it would force him to use his brain in a manner other than endless circling. And if Poe did arrive tomorrow, it would be best if he wasn’t seen. “All right. I’ll see you morning after next.”

The accounts didn’t help. His focus was terrible, and every expense had to be run three times before he could get it all to balance out. It was midmorning on day four, and Kes was starting to believe that his son’s only epitaph would be silence.

Giving up the accounts as a lost cause, he reached for his boots. The fields were mostly done, but there were still those two rows that the harvester droid had mangled in the eastern field. Hand-picking whatever undamaged fruit remained would be damned inefficient, but it would keep him occupied.

He was nearly out the door when the comm console beeped.

Kes lunged back toward the desk and squinted at the notification on the screen, willing it to be both positive and true. The landing request was from a light freighter, not the ‘shuttle’ cover that the X-wings had used. The code, however, was the same.

“Freighter _Bophine,_ this is a private landing zone,” he announced over the local frequency. “If you’re hoping to make a purchase, you’re a few days early and most of my crop is already spoken for.”

“Greetings, DKR,” replied an unfamiliar voice, with an accent Kes couldn’t place. “I have been told stories of your most honorable generosity and hospitality. My passenger has assured me of a warm welcome and suggested that a small share of your bountiful harvest might be a fair exchange for his passage. If that is so, I give you most humble thanks.”

Kes pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to react critically, not on mere hope. “ _If_ your passenger is who he claims to be, then you are welcome indeed. Please allow me to speak with him.”

There was a pause, a seemingly endless expanse of time that slowly shredded Kes’s sanity. At last, he heard another voice, rough and tentative and more familiar than his own. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You had _better_ be.” Kes squeezed his eyes shut. “Landing clearance granted.”

He smacked his hand down on the button to sever the channel and chose not to fight the full-body shudder that followed, signaling the release of so much of the tension he’d carried for the past few days.

Not all of it, of course. Poe was alive, yes, but without the ship he’d left in. Clearly he’d planned for that contingency—but he’d sounded…off. Exhausted, and more. Kes didn’t dare speculate, but he did retrieve the blaster pistol he kept in his bedroom before hurrying outside.

The small freighter settled onto the bare dirt beside the barn, and took its time in lowering its gangplank. When it did, two figures appeared at the hatch, silhouetted by the craft’s interior lights. They moved together down the ramp, and Kes tensed, looking for a weapon jammed into Poe’s side. He found none. On the contrary, the smaller, smooth-headed being seemed to be providing his passenger some support.

Kes’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Poe was wearing the same clothes he’d left in, minus his flight jacket, and every inch of him looked sunburned, or wind-beaten, or possibly both. There was a gash at his temple that he’d made a halfhearted effort to clean up, and a smaller one under his eye that was beginning to bruise. He carried himself gingerly, as if trying to minimize any and all movement.

His eyes were downcast, focusing on his steps, so it took him a moment to realize that his father was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. When he did, he paused and visibly stepped away from his companion, drawing himself up straighter.

It was a futile, senseless act—because now, not only could Kes see right through Poe’s attempt to mask his injuries, he could also see the wariness, the utter blankness of his expression. _Force have mercy,_ Kes thought instinctively, stepping forward to fold his son into his arms.

Poe didn’t relax, his smaller frame still held taut as if he couldn’t risk even that. Kes imagined he felt a faint tremor thrumming through—which one of them? Did it matter?

“So,” Poe said quietly into his father’s shoulder. “For the record, this was not exactly the plan.”

“ _Mijo_ ,” Kes murmured into his hair, “no shit.”

“I’m okay, Dad.”

“You expect me to buy that?”

A minute shake of his head. “Just keep me out of the hospital.” After a moment, Poe drew back, but didn’t object to the arm Kes kept braced around him. “Dad, meet the illustrious Ohn Gos, to whom I owe a great debt. Ohn Gos, my honored father, Kes Dameron.”

The freighter pilot gave a small bow, which Kes returned by inclining his head. Blarina, possibly. He’d done business with a couple of Blarina in the past. Big on fancy phrasing and effusive gestures. “I am in your debt as well, for returning my son to me,” Kes told him. “Will you stay for a meal?”

“I regret that I have more stops to make on my journey,” Gos replied, casting a glance around the property. “My trade partners are not long on patience. They will, however, pay a fine price for fresh koyo melons.”

Just as well. Kes lifted a hand to point toward the eastern field. “As I said, most of my crop is already claimed, but I cannot allow your kindness to my family to go unrewarded. Out in this field, there are two rows of plants that have been damaged. Much of the fruit is still good; it will simply need to be picked by hand. If you have a mobile cargo container, take it and fill it with as much as you can carry.”

A gleam came into the Blarina’s narrow eyes. “I can do better, and I thank you sincerely.” He snapped his fingers, and an ancient-looking droid tottered down the ramp, leading a wheeled container. “Together we will make short work of your castoffs and make this a worthwhile trip indeed.” Gos reached out to clasp Poe’s hand. “Be safe, Poe Dameron. You have my gratitude as well, for Naka’s sake.”

“Take care, Ohn Gos.” Poe smiled, but it was a feeble, listless thing. Kes tightened his supporting arm and turned them both toward the house. The walk was about a hundred steps, give or take, and Poe’s feet seemed to be propelled by little more than willpower.

Halfway there, a breeze rustled the branches of Shara’s tree, loosening a few stray leaves. One settled on Poe’s shoulder, and he reached up to brush it off, halting mid-motion with a soft sound of distress. Kes turned to find him staring at the leaf in his hand, its vibrant blue-green dulled to nearly gray.

Unnerved, Kes searched the canopy of branches above for any sign of disease or damage and found none.

Poe’s gaze began to lose focus. “I—can’t,” he said blankly, and didn’t finish.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Kes said gently. “I think you’re in shock. Let’s get you inside.”

“I don’t…I…”

When he crumpled, Kes caught him easily.

Father had carried son up this path many times before, in days past—when he’d been small and fighting sleep, when he’d fallen and turned an ankle. It would never be a hardship, no matter the circumstance.

Poe’s bedroom was near the closest door, thankfully; he’d always liked being able to look out at Shara’s tree. Kes laid him down on the bed with as much care as he could manage and pulled him onto his side, into a recovery position. After drawing up the old army-green blanket that had lived here as long as any of them, Kes sat down on a corner of the bed, thoughts whirling. He had a choice to make here. His first aid skills were acceptable by infantry standards, but would he stake Poe’s life on them if the boy was hurt worse than he’d let on? No hospital, Poe had said, surely because of the price on his head. That left one other option, a kind of middle ground.

He kissed Poe’s forehead, thought _forgive me,_ and reached for his comlink.

Once he’d made his call, he exhaled a long breath and centered himself. First things first. He gathered supplies: water, bandages, salves, the softest sleep pants he owned. He cut away Poe’s ruined clothing, willing his hands not to falter as he uncovered each new bruise. Then he wet a cloth and cleaned away the dust and blood with the lightest touch he could manage. Most of the wounds appeared to be superficial, concentrated above the waist. A crash, most likely, but Poe had crashed before. This felt different, somehow.

Kes thought about the leaves of the Force tree that had seemingly withered at Poe’s touch, and slammed a mental gate shut. If he let himself dwell on all the awful possibilities, he’d fall apart, and he’d be no good to either of them.

Tinera arrived as quickly as physically possible, greeting Kes with a brief hug and immediately striding toward the bed. “It’s good to see him,” she said with a sigh, setting down the bag she’d brought. “It’s been so long.”

“He made me promise not to take him to the hospital, but I don’t trust myself to know what he needs. If he’s—I don’t know, bleeding inside, or—”

“It’s all right. If he needs more than I can give him here, there are ways. But we don’t need to get ahead of ourselves.” She withdrew a med-scanner from her bag, one of the expensive types that were rarely seen outside of major medical centers or on the Core Worlds. Kes backed away to let her work and once again counted himself lucky to know her.

When the Empire had fallen, Tinera Naol had been serving as a staff officer on _Home One_ , the Alliance’s flagship. The Medical corps had been decimated by the loss of its primary frigate during the Battle of Endor, and she’d been pressed to quickly develop her innate instincts for emergency response into trained skills and transfer to Medical. She’d remained a paramedic ever since, long after settling on Yavin and becoming a close friend of the Dameron family.

Now she lifted Poe’s hand and placed a small clip on his index finger, taking a reading of his blood. “Do you know what happened?”

Kes shook his head. “I’ll ask, but I doubt he’ll tell me much.”

Tinera nodded, removing the clip with one hand while retrieving a bag of IV fluid with the other. “Most of the bruising is consistent with impact trauma from a crash, but not all of it. Largely superficial, though. Nothing broken, unless you count two cracked ribs. Concussion, but that’s already starting to resolve. Must have happened at least a couple of days ago. He’s also badly dehydrated. As soon as we get this into him, he’ll feel worlds better.”

Kes closed his eyes in relief. Not prayer—he wasn’t yet prepared to be grateful to anyone or anything for the condition in which his boy had limped home. He watched Tinera hang the fluid bag on the bedside lamp and insert the needle so smoothly that Poe didn’t even twitch.

“What is it?” he asked, noting how tightly her jaw was set. “If that were all, you’d already be making fun of his hair and asking me if he’s got a girlfriend.”

Tinera kept to her task, binding Poe’s ribcage with a bracing wrap. “Not going to speculate. Wait for the scanner to finish with his blood, and then I’ll hazard a guess.”

As she affixed bacta-infused pads to the various small wounds scattered across his skin, Kes considered his options for getting through the next few minutes and hours. He stepped out of the room long enough to cross the house in search of a drink and returned with a bottle of lum ale that he’d forgotten he owned.

When he returned, Tinera had drawn the blanket back up over Poe’s motionless form and was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the lum. “You planning to share?” she asked, tugging and twisting her thick silver hair into an effortless braid.

Kes took a long pull from the bottle and handed it over. She tipped it up for a smaller swallow and passed it back. “You know what he’s been up to,” he said, more a statement than a question. “Who he’s working with.”

She nodded. “When you’ve worked for senior military types, you learn what to listen for. I’ve got a decent idea of how things are going.”

“Is everyone on this rock tied into the Resistance except me?”

“Definitely not. And I’m not tied in, exactly. Just paying attention, in case someday either I need it or they do.” The scanner beeped its completion, and Tinera leaned over to peer at the screen. She exhaled a long breath, but none of the tension left her frame. “Okay. The good news is that the drug is almost entirely washed out of his system.”

“The drug,” repeated Kes, thrown off. “Stims?”

The medic started to shake her head, then hesitated. “In a sense. Not the type he’d use intentionally on a long flight, though. This…it amps up the neurological response to nerve stimulus.”

“It makes you…feel things more?” A beat late, Kes understood, and he instantly wished for his ignorance back.

Tinera looked up at him, her eyes bright with contained fury. “Someone wanted to hurt our _pajarito_ as much as possible,” she said in a low voice. “Someone with access to chemicals that I’ve only read about in connection with Imperial interrogation droids.”

Kes’s blood cooled, in spite of the burn of the liquor. His boy. His boy had been _tortured._ “How could—” He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He wasn’t sure how to even _form_ a sentence. “…how did he even make it out?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tinera said, resolute. “Not now. What matters is that he’s here, and he’s going to be okay.” She reached out to grasp his arm. “Are _you_ going to be okay?”

Kes didn’t want to know what his expression was betraying. “Don’t have a lot of choice for the moment. For him, I can hold it together.”

“Then just be with him. And call me when you’re ready to stop holding it together.” She climbed to her feet. “The IV should finish in a little while. He’ll wake up before much longer. Make him some soup, and have him keep the bacta patches on until morning. He can have any of the standard painkillers if he needs them. I won’t stay—I don’t imagine he’ll want to see me just yet.”

“He may not really want to see me either,” Kes said, his mind flying through hundreds of possibilities and not finding purchase on any of them. What in the name of the Light was he supposed to _do_ now? “I’m not—we’ve never completely agreed on the subject of…the cause.”

“He loves you, Kes, and he knows you love him.” She pulled him into a tight embrace, leaving no room for argument. “And you may have a little more common ground now. Having you, his father, here is the _best_ thing for him. Don’t let your doubts try to tell you otherwise.”

When she’d gone, Kes put the liquor away and put a pot on the stove to warm the leftover soup he’d frozen a couple of weeks ago. Through the window, he could see Poe’s Blarina rescuer and his long-suffering droid loading a truly remarkable amount of koyo into his cargo hold. Well, that took care of the damaged rows. He pulled his desk chair into Poe’s room and sat down with his datapad, typing a quick note to Dar to suggest that they take tomorrow off as well, since they were so far ahead of schedule. Once he’d sent it, self-destructive curiosity got the better of him, and he skimmed through the galactic news feeds.

_Former NRDF Commander Poe Dameron is believed dead following a starfighter crash on Jakku. Dameron is wanted by Republic Forces for defection, but since several unauthorized bounties for his capture have increased in the past few days, it is not yet known whether reports of his death are accurate, nor whether the various syndicates offering said bounties may have played a role in the purported crash._

“You’ve got a complete set,” Kes remarked to Poe, who still showed no sign of consciousness. “Wanted by the Republic, wanted by the Hutts and all their friends, and even though the news feeds are too polite and too afraid to mention it, obviously you’re wanted by the First Order as well. You never did like to do anything halfway.”

He wondered if he should be trying to contact Leia Organa somehow, to let her know that Poe was safe for the moment. It didn’t take him long to decide against it. By the time he could gather enough information to do so in a way that minimized risk, Poe would be able to do it himself.

_Don’t think about it too hard—don’t think about it—don’t—_

The IV bag was empty, so Kes knelt down beside the bed and slid the needle out of Poe’s arm as carefully as he could. While he was placing a small bandage over the drop of blood that welled up in answer, he felt Poe begin to stir at last.

The young man was fully alert in an instant, flinging himself upright with wide, unseeing eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle tensed.

Kes knew better than to reach for him. “You’re okay, _mijo_ ,” he said quietly, leaning back when Poe threw an arm up to instinctively shield his face. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for Poe’s harsh, panting breaths. With a soft moan of pain, he lowered his arm and curled inward on himself. “Home,” he repeated, awareness beginning to filter in at last.

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s okay.”

At that, his eyes found Kes. “It’s not,” he mumbled brokenly, sounding so very young. “It’s not okay… m’sorry…”

Kes slid out of his chair and onto the bed, wrapping Poe up in his arms. He held his boy’s head against his shoulder, feeling him shake with quiet sobs and willing himself to keep control just a little while longer. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said urgently. “For anything. I swear to you.”

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but in time Poe’s trembling faded away, and eventually his ragged breaths smoothed out into sleep. Kes eased him back onto the pillow and tucked the blanket around him. Stepping back, out of the room, he closed the door and slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Under the worn rug, the floorboards still bore the scratches from seven-year-old Poe’s attempts to skate down the hall on a rollerboard made from decommissioned droid parts.

Kes drew up his knees, put his face in his hands, and wept.

*******************

Poe came into wakefulness more easily the next time, and Kes was ready, having had most of the afternoon to ride out his anger, grief, and a couple of flashbacks. At the first rustling of the blankets, he set aside his reading and picked up the cup of water he’d stationed on the bedside table. “Hey, _mijo._ ” He rested a hand on Poe’s shoulder as the young man pulled himself upright and reached for the cup. “Drink slowly. I’ll warm up some topato soup for you in a while.”

Poe obeyed, his hands reasonably steady. After a couple of swallows, he set the cup down and looked up at his father with a clearer, if tentative, expression. “Thanks,” he said, testing out his voice. It was raspy, but it held. “I’m not—um, how did I get here?”

“‘Here’ as in the room, or the planet?”

“I remember making planetfall.” Poe grimaced. “A little fuzzy on the details. Did you drag my ass all the way into the house?”

“Drag?” Kes scoffed. “Kid, you may be a hotshot pilot, but I lift farm junk all day and have forty pounds on you. There was no dragging involved. How’s the pain?”

Poe considered the question. “A lot better.” He glanced down, taking inventory of his various aches. Kes could see the moment he realized that his ribs had been bound too professionally to have been his father’s handiwork. A guarded—hunted?—look crept across his features. “Dad—”

“It was only Tinera. She says you’ll heal up quick.”

Poe huffed a short, humorless laugh. “Does she.”

Just like that, they were adrift. What could Kes say that wouldn’t be woefully inadequate or even painful? Worse—how could he help put his boy back together when the cracks in his own soul had never fused?

Abruptly Poe glanced at the chrono on the wall. “What standard day is it?”

“Bentaday,” Kes answered. “Are you overdue? Do you need to contact anyone?”

Poe shook his head. “Not on your comm. _Black One_ has encryption.” Swinging his legs down, he pushed to his feet, his steps becoming surer as he moved toward the door. Kes considered trying to make him wait until he’d had some more water and food, then heard Shara’s voice in the back of his mind saying _Let him make his own decisions,_ and simply helped him into a shirt instead.

In the heat of the day, it wasn’t unreasonable to be out in bare feet. The feel of the grass between his toes seemed to revive Poe a little; he stood for a few moments and just breathed, eyes closed against the sun. Soon, though, he began to walk stiffly toward the barn, and Kes couldn’t help but notice that he gave Shara’s tree a wide berth.

Although he hadn’t been explicitly invited, Kes hovered at the barn door, prepared to step out if Poe requested it. Poe didn’t, climbing gingerly up to the cockpit and sitting on the canopy sill to reach in and power up the craft’s electronics manually, not bothering to bring the basic-looking droid in the astromech port out of low-power mode.

BB-8, Kes realized with a jolt of shame. He hadn’t even thought about the droid, but this would have been its job had it been there. He’d never worked closely enough with any droids to get very attached, but he knew BB-8 had been with Poe since the Academy—longer than nearly any other relationship in his young life—and the little astromech sure as hell had an outsized personality.

Force alive. On top of whatever else had happened, Poe had lost his best friend.

“Black Leader status report,” Poe recited, his voice entirely free of inflection. “Mission success was…minimal. The operation was compromised. Contact is dead, with significant collateral casualties. Asset confirmed with auxiliary, but location and safety of the auxiliary is unknown. Recommend heightened security posture, due to potential compromise of critical locations and intel. Will be available for full debriefing shortly. End transmission.”

Once he’d shut down the comm panel, his posture slumped in defeat. Kes itched to step closer, to step in, but he held fast.

“Well, I didn’t completely lose it,” Poe said without looking up, his lips twisting in wry bitterness. “Stellar performance, don’t you think?”

“You don’t need to perform for anyone right now,” said Kes. “You’re allowed to hate this. You’re allowed to be miserable after something goes to hell.”

“I can’t bring that back to base with me, though. I—can’t do my job if…” Poe’s jaw clenched, and he turned to carefully climb down the boarding ladder, conveniently concealing his face. Kes did move then, placing himself at the bottom of the ladder in case Poe’s battered body were to falter.

When Poe’s bare feet hit the ground, he didn’t look up right away. “There’s a lot we’ve never talked about,” he said quietly. “About the finer details of what you did for the Alliance. Mom answered all my questions because they were about flying, but with you, I didn’t ask as much and you didn’t say as much. I’m guessing that wasn’t a coincidence.”

His own mouth going dry, Kes allowed, “You’re right.”

At that, Poe lifted his head to meet his father’s gaze—squarely, but with anguish radiating behind his eyes. “Dad, I have about a standard day to get my head straight, and then I have to get back. The intel’s too critical to wait any longer. In a day I’ll have to look General Organa in the eye and report to her what I— what happened, and I have _got_ to be able to do it without falling apart. Right now, I’m not there yet. I know what an awful thing this is to ask, but…will you please help me?”

“Of course.” The words were out of Kes’s mouth before he could even form the thought. “Come back inside. We’ll get some dinner.”

*******************

They ate in the living room, bringing oversized mugs of topato soup over to the sofa and chair. Poe settled into a corner of the sofa the way he always had, nearly swallowed up by the cushions. Kes took the liberty of pouring each of them a sizable glass of the strongest spirit he had on hand and chose not to concern himself with what Tinera would say. Poe hadn’t taken any painkillers, so they had that much going for them.

“I’m not going to tell you where I was or who I was meeting,” Poe said, his features set. “Knowing that wouldn’t really change any of this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.” Kes didn’t need to know what precisely had gone so very wrong. Selfishly, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know a lot of what he was about to hear, most likely. All it could do was drag him back to a mental place he didn’t want to be—and in the worst case scenario, someone could come after _him_ for the intel that they’d tried to torture out of Poe. “But you were captured.”

Poe nodded. “Still don’t know how they found out I was there, or that my contact was. I’m hoping our counterintel guys will be able to figure it out.”

“’They’ being the First Order.”

“Yeah. The fucking First Order.” Poe lifted his mug to his lips before continuing. “Slaughtered a whole settlement, right in front of me. The settlers, they were prepared to fight, but the First Order came in ready for an army. I picked off a few ‘troopers, but he made sure I couldn’t do much else.”

“He,” Kes repeated, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“Kylo Ren.”

Just a name. And yet. “I’d been hoping he was just a ghost story,” Kes said quietly. “Something to scare the young ones who don’t remember Darth Vader.”

“He’s no ghost. Froze my blaster bolt in midair, and me along with it. Then they locked me up on a Star Destroyer. Force, you would not believe how big those things are. Looking at it, I wondered what the hell we were thinking, trying to go up against a force with _those_ in its arsenal.” Poe stared down at the floor, at the worn rug that had lain there ever since they’d built the house. “The droid wasn’t so bad, actually. I mean, it hurt like hell, but at least they trained us for that.” He glanced up. “You don’t have to answer, but were you ever captured?”

A little off-balance, Kes realized belatedly that Poe was talking about an interrogation droid. Swallowing the ache in his chest, he replied, “Once. Only in the field, and my team got to me before the Imperials could do anything but knock me around a little. I never had to deal with—” Stars, how could this conversation be real? “—the shocks or the drugs.”

Poe blinked at him, as if not comprehending. “Right. That happened too.”

Were either of them following each other’s thread here? “It’s okay if you don’t remember.”

“I _wish_ I didn’t remember. It’s just–that’s not what I was talking about.” Poe set his mug on the side table with a clatter, before the sudden tremble in his hands could spill the soup. “I held out. I didn’t give their thugs or their droid anything. But Ren…” He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, seeming to disappear further into the seat. “He got _inside_ my head. I guess it was a Force trick, or something, but—it felt like fire, like he was ripping me open and tearing my memories apart to find what he wanted. Did you know they could do that?”

Stunned and sick, Kes only shook his head.

Poe didn’t meet his eyes. “I thought I knew what it meant to be helpless, but this…there was no stopping this. There may be no stopping _him_.”

He didn’t sob, or scream. Even now, he was fighting to hold himself together. Kes watched the tears trace silent paths down his son’s clenched jaw and understood helplessness, truly and utterly. His fingers tightened painfully around his mug.

“You don’t need me to tell you that it wasn’t your fault,” he said, knowing how weak it sounded. “But I have to say it anyway. You are _not_ to blame. For any of it.”

Poe may or may not have heard; it was impossible to tell. He drew his knees up onto the sofa, flinching only a little at the pull to his ribs. “You know the rumors about who he is.”

A part of Kes wanted nothing more than to cover his ears, maybe even to run. He did _not_ want to hear these things, these scraps of awful knowledge that resurrected all the revulsion and fear and guilt of a war long past. They would never leave him, and now they would never leave his boy, and maybe the galaxy was never meant to be just and kind.

All he could say, of course, was “I’ve heard them.”

“Pretty sure they’re true. When he was in m-my head… It’s not like I was in his, but I got kind of a sense—almost like I recognized him.”

Ben Organa Solo. Because the Force really was that twisted and cruel. Kes had never wanted to believe it; he knew Han’s and Leia’s flaws better than most, but above all they were good, principled people. Their quiet, awkward boy had been in this very room a half-dozen times, decades ago, trailing sullenly in the wake of an older, more outgoing Poe. After Shara died, and Leia’s Senate duties consumed their lives, the visits had stopped.

“Leia should have told you,” he said, a flare of anger rising. “There’s no way she doesn’t know.”

Poe didn’t react. “What difference would it have made?”

Strategically, none. Emotionally…who could say? “Do you think he recognized you?”

“I don’t know. They told him who I was, but he never used my name. It’s not like we were ever really friends. We met a few times when we were little.” Poe shook his head. “I can’t decide—the idea that he could do that to someone he once knew…does that make it worse?”

“There is no ‘worse,’ _mijo._ There’s no scoreboard. It’s just…awful, different shades of terrible, and I’m supposed to be able to help you, always, and I _can’t_.” Kes slammed his mug down, ignoring the hot splash of soup over his knuckles, and vaulted to his feet. Poe looked up at him with startled eyes, searching for words, and Kes waved him silent. “No. This isn’t yours to fix. Nobody told us, when we had you, that the need to protect never goes away. They hand you a baby and suddenly you can’t take a full breath for all the fears that spring up, and you think that it’ll get better as time goes on, but it doesn’t—it just changes forms. It’s crushing, sometimes. But it’s the way of things. I might as well curse the stars for shining.”

He picked up the glasses of liquor and pushed one into Poe’s hand before taking his seat. His issues were not on the table today. “Whether he remembered you or not, Ren didn’t kill you.”

“No. But he might just have been saving that for later, until Finn showed up.”

“Who’s Finn? A Resistance operative?”

Poe looked at his glass for a long moment, then downed half of it in a single swallow. “A mirage, maybe,” he said finally. “Too good to be true. Or just too good to live long.” Before Kes could try to interpret, Poe was shaking his head. “It was the strangest thing, Dad. I was sure I was going to die, and then this stormtrooper bluffed me out of the cell and into a TIE fighter.”

It was absurd enough that Kes almost wanted to laugh. “You escaped in a TIE fighter. Of course you did.”

Poe attempted a smile, but couldn’t manage it. “Until they shot us down. I don’t remember the crash. I don’t know if Finn ejected. Even if he did…it wasn’t exactly a highly populated area. It was dumb luck that I stumbled on someone before exposure got me. Finn might not have been so lucky. I made Ohn Gos do a sweep for him, and for BB-8, but…” His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “He didn’t even have a _name_ , Dad. He was trained—probably brainwashed—to be a cog in their machine, and he broke free enough to save my life. And now he’s probably dead before he even got to see what the galaxy is really like.”

“He deserves to be remembered.” Kes felt immeasurable gratitude to this nameless soldier who had spared his son. “You’ll tell Leia? The idea that ‘troopers could be turned—that could make a real difference. That’s something we never managed to do. Working to reach them would be a fitting way to honor him.”

“If we even get the chance.” Abruptly Poe tossed back the rest of his drink.

Kes watched him for a moment. The sun was setting outside, painting the room and the two of them in rose and gold. Poe’s chin had dropped to his chest, but not to shield his eyes from Yavin’s rays. His entire being seemed to have crumpled inward.

“You’re worried about the intel you might have lost,” Kes theorized.

“It’s a little worse than that.” Poe made a sound that might have been the start of a laugh, but it caught in his throat. “That—whatever he is now—could see everything I know. Starting with the location of my base, the deployment of our ships… I don’t know what he saw, what he took. For all I know, he _changed_ things in there… I just—” Anguish radiated from every breath when he finally lifted his head. “I _have_ to go back, to try to help undo the damage I’ve caused, but how can I?”

“You didn’t ‘cause’ it,” Kes insisted. “You couldn’t—”

“I got captured, Dad! I could have kept cover, but people were dying, and so I _didn’t_ , and now everything we’ve fought for— _all_ of us, me and you and Mom—”

The glass tumbled, forgotten, from Kes’s hand. He shoved himself out of his seat and fell to his knees in front of the sofa, gathering Poe into his arms as the boy collapsed into quiet but wrenching sobs. He held on tightly, as if he could crush the darkness and desolation out of his son and banish them himself.

 _I wanted to spare him this,_ he raged at the Force. _We’ve done enough, Shara and me—you don’t have the right to break him too._

“You listen to me,” he murmured urgently into Poe’s ear. “You _did not_ fail anyone. Not your friends, not your general, and _not_ your parents. You have always made your principles into actions, and you’re suffering for them, but that is _not_ a sin. This galaxy would be nothing if it weren’t for people like you.”

Whether his words were making any impact, he didn’t know, but eventually the full-body shudders subsided into trembling. “You can hate everything about this without shouldering the blame yourself,” Kes continued. “You can keep going. Leia Organa, after they escaped the Death Star—”

“I know.” Poe drew in a shaky breath. “She watched the obliteration of her entire planet and still kept going.”

“Not what I meant.” Kes pulled back and grasped Poe’s shoulders, needing to look him in the eye. “She came back here, to the base, and in so doing led the Imperials right to our doorstep. This moon was seconds away from annihilation and it would have been on her head. And if you think she doesn’t remember that, every day, along with every other decision she’s made in the last thirty years where lives were at stake, then you’re crazy. It’s a smaller scale, but it’s the same for me. And it was the same for your mother. You never heard about the time she blew her entire turbocannon charge on overkilling a TIE because she was angry and then had to watch his wingman kill her best friend while she was recharging. Or the time she swapped rotations with someone to be on base for my birthday and then half her squadron got wiped out on that mission.”

Even as he was speaking, Kes cursed himself, for laying bare Shara’s regrets yet not being strong enough to voice his own. _Another time,_ he vowed. He and Poe were connected now, not only father and son but brothers—in a way he’d never, ever wanted but could not be taken back. A hard knot had formed in his chest, and he swallowed the ache. “We can never see all the effects of our actions. All we can do is try, and keep trying. I’m proud of what I did, but somewhere along the way, I couldn’t keep trying in that way without destroying myself. I couldn’t make the ghosts be quiet. And I was terrified of that hurting you, and eventually of that same thing _happening_ to you, so I couldn’t make myself support your choices like I wish I had. And of course _that_ hurt you, and I am so, so sorry for it. But I can say this, at least: you are not me. You have brains and skills that I never did, and different experiences and resources, and _you can do this_.”

Poe stared at him with reddened, watery eyes, clearly struggling to believe. “Mom’s tree,” he said uncertainly. “I feel like…it sensed the darkness in me somehow—that’s why the leaves…”

“If you trust a tree over your own father, so help me,” Kes warned, only half joking. Poe couldn’t even muster a twitch of a smile, though, so Kes tried again. “If the Force considered us marked for all time whenever we encountered darkness in the galaxy, then no one would ever be able to get near that tree. What B—” No, not Ben. “—that _thing_ did to you was pure evil, but it says _nothing_ about _you. You_ are still the same man who risks everything for others, whose pilots would follow him into hell and back. You are the best thing a dumb ground-pounder ever did with his life.” Kes angrily ignored the waver in his voice. “Maybe the other side knows more than they did before. So do you. Use it, and _hit them back._ ”

Poe nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Likely he wasn’t fully convinced; Kes wasn’t either. But it was all he had, and for now, it only had to get them through the night.

“Let me warm up your soup for you.” Kes got to his feet.

Uncurling slightly from the tight ball he’d wound himself into, Poe almost— _almost_ smiled. “Your topato was always better than Mom’s.”

“She was too impatient to let it cook properly. Ends up lumpy when you do it fast over high heat.”

“That’s something I probably should have learned by now.” Poe scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’ll eat, but then I’d better get to bed. Once I get back, there’s not going to be much time for rest.”

“I can imagine.” Kes picked up the mug and moved toward the kitchen. Just before the doorway, he stopped, recalling something. “Don’t ask how I know this, but unless the quality of stormtrooper armor has regressed in the last thirty years, it’s sealed against the vacuum of space and pretty resistant to blunt impacts.”

Poe blinked up at him. “What—”

“Your new friend Finn. If you survived a TIE crash with no protection at all, odds are good that he did too.”

*******************

Daybreak came far too early. Kes hadn’t really slept, so it made little difference from that perspective, but Poe hadn’t wanted to lose any more time before getting back to his base, and the chances of his T-70 being spotted on departure only rose with the sun. Kes let him be, figuring he would ask for help with the bandages if he needed it. Instead, while Poe showered and shaved, Kes cooked ruping eggs and shucked the rind from a couple of koyo.

When Poe emerged, he looked worlds better, the cuts on his face looking less bruised and his skin less dull. His eyes were still shadowed, but within there was clear determination. At the same time, his father’s clothes hung on his smaller frame, and his hair curled a little wildly where he hadn’t bothered to dry it…and Kes could only see him at eight years old, standing in his stiff formal clothes and politely listening to all the older colonists and Alliance veterans offering their condolences on the loss of his mother.

Sliding into a kitchen chair, Poe pulled a plate toward himself and smiled his thanks. He dug into the eggs and dumped about twice as much sucra as was healthy onto his quartered melon. “I need to gather up a box of koyo to take back,” he said between bites. “I wasn’t kidding about the mutiny. Giving up intel they might forgive, but coming back empty-handed at harvest time…”

It wasn’t a _good_ joke, but it was a joke nonetheless, and Kes was grateful for it. He was also grateful for the way Poe seemed not to have noticed the fresh scrapes on his father’s knuckles. “I boxed some up for you a couple of days ago. They’re in the barn next to your cargo hatch.”

“Always a step ahead, huh?”

“Only of you, kid.” Which wasn’t true, hadn’t been true for years, and they both knew it.

They finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and Poe once again insisted on washing the dishes. When Kes turned to put the plates back in the cupboard, Poe surprised him by saying, “I need to apologize.”

Kes paused, wondering if the boy had needed to wait until they weren’t face to face to say it. “We’ve been through this.”

“Let me finish,” Poe said quietly, and at that, Kes did turn back. “It’s not for things I’ve done, or really even said, but for things I thought. At the Academy, there were a lot of opportunities for parents to show up and be really obvious about how proud they were of their kids’ commitment to service. I recognize now how much else is wrapped up in things like that, socially and politically, and that it’s about a lot more than having pride in your kid, but at the time, all I really understood was that you were busy with the farm a lot and not really enthusiastic when you _were_ there.”

Kes burned to speak, but kept his peace.

“I thought it meant something different than it did. And then, after the _Yssira Zyde_ —I thought that you didn’t get why I’d done it, but that was just stupid. Of course you got it. You lived a lot of this once already. You didn’t disagree with me…you just wanted things to be different. _Because_ you’d lived it.”

“Because I’d lived it, and because I’m a parent,” Kes clarified. “You’ve got it right. But it wasn’t fair of me to give you so little to go on in order to understand. It’s…” What to say? His ghosts were more than the boy needed just then, while still finding his feet after this mission. That’s what he was telling himself, at least. “It’s hard for me, even now, to explain or even talk about. I think part of me didn’t want to burden you with how messed up I still am, or… I don’t know, take away your hope, your idealism. The galaxy needs more of that.”

Poe glanced away, features tightening into a slightly sardonic expression. “Well, my idealism is pretty well beat to hell at the moment, so…” He looked up. “Maybe we _could_ talk about it now.”

“Yeah.” Kes swallowed hard. “I could try. One day soon.”

They walked out to the barn, and once again Poe chose a path that took him well clear of Shara’s tree. When Kes realized it, he reached out and closed a hand around his son’s arm. “ _Mijo._ ”

Poe slowed, every muscle tensed in conflict. “Dad, I can’t.”

“You can. You were touched by darkness. You didn’t _become_ darkness, and you never will. And I think you need this to prove it to yourself.”

With a soft sigh, Poe lifted his chin and stepped toward the tree. Tentatively, he lifted one hand toward the lowest branch, stroking the deep green leaf between his thumb and forefinger, ready to spring away at the first sign of damage.

It never came. The leaf shimmered in the early light, and a breeze rustled the branches around them.

Poe released a long-held breath. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Kes didn’t care who or what he was talking to.

“Hold your head high when you speak to Leia,” Kes told him when they reached his starfighter. “You have every right. And—give her my best.”

“I can do the second part. The first…all I can promise is that I’ll try.” Poe hugged him, hard and brief, and then pulled back to look him in the eye. “Saying ‘thank you’ wouldn’t come close to being enough, but it’s all I’ve got. Thank you, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too, Poe. No matter what.” Kes drew him in again, knowing he had to commit this to memory, to last him through Force knew how many more days. “Go make it happen.”

He tracked the black starfighter as it lifted off the ground and shrank to nothing more than a streak of light in the brightening sky, so fast it dug a furrow across his very soul. For a long moment, he stared into the space where his son had just been, feeling hollow, with nothing left to give.

At last he lifted his comlink and accessed a familiar frequency.

“Is he gone?” Tinera asked, her voice rich with compassion.

“Just left.”

“How is he?”

“All right. Not great. But not broken.”

“That’ll do for now.” She waited a beat. “What about you?”

He could have tried to evade, but it would have been futile. Kes leaned against the side of the barn. “He’s going to die out there. Not today, but someday.”

“That’s a flawed assumption,” Tinera said. “You didn’t.”

Kes closed his eyes. “Didn’t I?”

“No.” She responded matter-of-factly, undeterred by the hyperbole. “And Poe is proof. A dead man didn’t raise that boy. He didn’t learn his sense of duty or determination from damaged goods.”

“I know. I just…” _I miss my wife. I miss believing that the galaxy is inherently good, the way she did._ “My heart’s too old for this drama.”

“Your heart is as strong as anybody I know. Come over tonight. I’ll cook. Unless you don’t want to be alone right now?”

“No, I’m all right. Got the last of the harvest to finish up. I’ll soak a few in booze and bring them along tonight.”

“Okay. See you then.”

Kes stuffed his comlink into his pocket and just stood for a moment, gathering himself. Dar would be arriving any minute, and they still had a third of the crop left to sort for the early buyers. The Coruscant distributors always wanted the smaller, sweeter melons. They needed to have twenty-four bushels ready for Nemrin Hesa in two days.

So it went. The moon continued to turn. With one last glance at the skies above, Kes headed back to the house. _If you have any pull at all, Shara, then keep him safe._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please come say hi on Tumblr if you're so inclined.


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